


the booby-trapped coffin

by Gutstring



Series: coffins and lines [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, M/M, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Villain Route (Telltale), fix-it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:55:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gutstring/pseuds/Gutstring
Summary: A couple of months after the funhouse incident, Bruce and Joker make a deal.





	1. Chapter 1

This is the manifestation of John’s grief: the black magic of gasoline and homemade bombs to create incandescent pyres (raging fires, walls of smoke, reflected red light on skyscraper glass) out of the Gotham cityscape, the theater of theater that is just for two, and nights staring at a light polluted sky that he swore, swore, just once he could see the stars in. 

This is the manifestation of Bruce’s.  
____________________________________________________________________________

As you watch the fifth charity organization supported by the Wayne Foundation be set ablaze, you become determined to find a way to make this situation give. When you decided to become Batman, you thought you were fully prepared to take on all aspects of the job. You trained so tirelessly and with such thoroughness. You thought you’d be able to take all the inevitable horror, the grime, the gore. You thought you had stared at the worst of humanity and had come back out on the other side. However, you never prepared yourself for being the source of the horror. Being the source is why Alfred left. Being the source is why you can no longer take this. 

You can no longer take the sight of flames devouring the buildings you know Gothamites worked so hard to build, or the smoke polluting your lungs as you try to save as many people as you can, or John’s maniacal laughter that just exudes someone having the time of their life. It was a laugh that you have never heard before out of a human being and one that haunts you in quiet moments. Even if you didn’t know the context - what inspires that laugh, what surrounds it - you’d know it sounds off. It’s too high-pitched, too cruel, too reckless abandon. John never had the most comforting laugh, but before everything happened, there was a lightness and ease to it that haunts you in loud moments, like now. 

To know that laugh emanates out of someone you, despite yourself (because of yourself) and despite everything that has happened, have grown to care about is confusing and devastating. To know you have some responsibility makes it both worse and better. Worse, because this is partly your fault. The fact that so many died at Wayne Tower is your fault, that John is plunging the city into chaos is your fault, and that an obviously mentally ill man was thrown further into unwellness is your fault. Better, because if it is your responsibility, if it’s your actions that set everything in motion, then maybe there is something you could do to fix it. 

Maybe.  
____________________________________________________________________________

Arkham Asylum looms. Your plan of attack as you approach is still undecided (this makes you wring your hands and square your shoulders; you’ve never been good at coping with not knowing what to do), as the possibilities are more idealistic than you typically like to view yourself as. The most realistic but still far-fetched scenario is that you can make some sort of deal with John to get him to curb the criminal activity - maybe offer yourself up as a personal punching bag, or let him desecrate parts of the Manor like he tried to a few months ago - and then try to trust that John would honor the deal. John made sure during That Night that the poetic irony of that wouldn’t be lost on you; your inability to trust is a big part of what got you into this situation to begin with, and now you’re in a position where you might have to trust him when you have much less reason to than you did before. Maybe he would criticize you for even thinking that there was a possibility he wouldn’t honor any sort of deal that you could make. You can imagine a finger wag and a, “There’s our classic Bruce!” Maybe he’d laugh that laugh that would let you know that all bets were off and all is fair in love and war. The more idealistic scenario is that you could find a way to articulate all you have been feeling lately - the guilt, the draw, the attachment, all the things you really don’t understand because understanding your emotions has never been your choice method for dealing with them - and John would do his best impression of Dr Leland’s empathetic nod and say, “Thanks for clearing things up, buddy! You want some coffee? They have a Keurig in the lounge.” 

You are not optimistic about your prospects, but you’re here. You’re not certain if that’s more of a testament to your character, your feelings towards Gotham, or your feelings towards John. 

The desire to run is pronounced, but there is no iteration of you in any universe that would give into it.  
____________________________________________________________________________

John looks exactly like he did when you first met and you’ve never been more comforted and unsettled by something simultaneously. All the other times you’ve seen him since after That Night before now he’s been dressed in his own version of the suit, his own statement piece, his own armor. The parallels make you feel something you’re not keen on examining. He doesn’t know you’re looking at him; the guard you paid off to make this meeting happen had to check the security camera inside his cell just to make sure he wasn’t in the middle of doing something that could be dangerous, like making a weapon. There was an incident with the nurse that you have to pretend to be shocked about even though Batman had already heard about it, as Batman is keeping track of all of the Joker’s crimes. You’ve learned that John is the type of man who can make a weapon out of everything in a startlingly short period of time, so you think this precaution is ultimately futile, but you keep that to yourself. 

He looks calmer than he does when he’s with you. “Calmer” being a relative term that indicates a scale; he’s laying in bed, drumming his hands against his leg, which is crossed over the other and pushing against the wall in a rhythm. He’s reading a book and you can’t make the title out. The image is grainy and the colors dull because of the camera’s low quality and it gives you the same sensation his physical appearance did. 

“You sure you want to do this, Mr Wayne?” the guard asks you. He, like everyone else in Gotham, knows about the Joker’s special interest in Bruce Wayne. He’s looking at you like you're suicidal. You aren’t, but you understand where he’s coming from. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell him. You still aren’t sure what “this” is, but you know you want to do it. 

The guard shrugs. “Well, it looks like you’re not going to get shived through the meal slot, so hopefully that comforts you.” 

It doesn’t. 

The guard starts to take you to John’s cell. John no longer stays with the general population; he’s been upgraded into twenty-three hour isolation, with the last hour dedicated to outdoor time in a court that looks sparse and downtrodden. You think that, for someone like John, that must be torture. You wonder for not the first time whether Arkham has improved at all. More guilt sets in. 

The guard takes you through a series of security doors, swiping his key card at each one. Your steps echo louder once you reach the isolation unit, and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears when the guard suddenly stops at one. He gives you one last questioning look and you nod. 

He knocks on the door and says, “Visitor for John Doe.” 

For a moment everything is quiet. Then the meal slot slides open, and you hear John’s, “I didn’t even know I could get visitors yet.” before he looks up and the two of you lock eyes. You take a certain amount of satisfaction at the fact that he looks completely and utterly bewildered and has been rendered speechless as a result. Any satisfaction is deflated when he openly and loudly laughs in your face for a considerable amount of time. 

After the laughter dies down, he says something you don’t expect: “Did I make a voodoo doll?”

“What?”

He ignores you. “Ooh, ooh, tell me you’re going to say, “I just couldn’t stay away.” If I have magic powers I could seriously make -” he claps, “- some -” claps, “- bank.” 

You don’t understand, and tell him so. 

He rolls his eyes as if you’re too stupid to understand. You wonder how genuine it is. 

“Never mind, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself,” he says, waving his hands airily.  
His gaze turns razor-focus. “What are you doing here, Bruce?” 

You look towards the guard, who is still lingering. He seems to take that as his cue to go, but tells you first that he’ll be watching on the security camera. This inspires another laugh from John, who remarks that Bruce and him are “the bestest of friends” and that he had nothing to worry about. You’re beginning to think this is a bad idea. 

You look towards John and take a deep breath. “We need to finally have an actual conversation, J-” you pause, “Joker.” 

He eyes you suspiciously, the same way he has the few times you’ve tried to talk to him in a way that was less Batman and Joker and more Bruce and John. He usually just mocks you during these times, completely pivoting the conversation to everything except what you actually want to talk about, but you’re hoping that coming as Bruce Wayne will encourage him to talk to you. The suspicion gives you hope; John still cares enough about you that he thinks you could do something to hurt him.

His perches his chin on his hand, elbow to his knee. “If I recall correctly, we’ve had plenty of quality time to gos. You should’ve said something then! Though, if there’s something that is important enough to make you come off your corporate throne and visit little ol’ me, I am pretty curious to hear what it is.” 

You’re about to speak, but he cuts you off. “Wait, do you even have a corporate throne? Call me a dummie, but how do you run a company with no employees?” 

He cackles again. You’re tempted to rise up to the challenge, but you remember that antagonism is what he both wants and expects. You try to control your temper and go with a different approach. 

“Please, Joker.” 

John looks absolutely disgusted. “Don’t do that.” 

You’re not sure what to make of that reaction. The fact that you came in here without a plan is now relevant, as you have no idea what to say next. You’re out of your depth. What if you just go with something you want him to know?

“I, uh,” you fumble, “I didn’t trust Selina either. At the funhouse, I mean.”

John looks at you like you’re an idiot he wants to strangle. “I’m aware. Pretty sure that was the point, Bruce.” 

This is never going to work if he’s continually this hostile. You opt for the type of vulnerability that struggles to leave your throat. 

“It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you. I did it because I - I really struggle with trusting anyone.” 

John sighs, long-suffering. “Again, my point.”

You’re exasperated. “I’m saying that I care about you.” 

John glares. “Liar.” 

You’re about to ask how you could prove it to him, but you’ve definitely struck a nerve within John, because he’s scrunching his face up in rage and pressing himself up against the door and meal slot. 

“This some sort of form of psychological warfare, Bruce? You think I won’t rise to the occasion?” 

This is starting to rapidly spiral out of your control. You peddle backwards. 

“I want to make some sort of deal with you. I’ll do whatever you want if you stop the attacks on Gotham.” 

If anything, this just makes him angrier. “Oh, so this is about your precious Gotham, is it?” 

You stop him before he can get going again. “It’s about both you and Gotham. I want to make this right, Joker.” 

He just stares at you for awhile and you feel a creeping certainty that this whole incident will just make his next Arkham breakout even worse. Before you can start imagining the types of retaliation John may do, he speaks. 

“What are you offering that you think I could possibly want?” 

You throw it back. “Do you think I could offer something you could possibly want?” 

His lips quirk slightly. He seems to look at some point inside his cell, near where you think the window must be, and then he looks back to you. “Let me think about it, ‘kay?” 

You’re about to object, but he lifts up his hand and closes his fingers together in a shushing gesture. 

“A man deserves some time to think. You owe me that. Thanks for coming!” 

And then the meal slot slams shut and you’re left standing there, bemused. You lean closer towards the door to try to hear anything, but all that’s there is silence.  


John breaks out of Arkham three days later.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re not sure how to interpret John breaking out of Arkham so soon after you went to see him other than knowing it most definitely has to deal with you. Whether you’re about to face the wrath of Joker or something else altogether seems like anyone’s guess. The ambiguity over how he’d let you what his decision is isn’t lost on you. 

Despite this, you’re still surprised when you feel a sudden prick on the side of your neck during your evening jog and everything goes black.  
____________________________________________________________________________

Every time you sleep you dream of all the corpses at Wayne Enterprises. All the people that supported you as you tried to make something clean and successful out of the company mercilessly slaughtered. You may still be alive, but a legacy feels like it has died along with the rest of them. Your first and foremost response to anything like this has always been overwhelming righteous anger. This has gotten you into trouble before. 

There was a time with John shortly after his first Arkham break-out: he lured you to an elaborate death-trap maze he set up within a building for underprivileged youths the Wayne Foundation supported. Children in danger, just another button pressed. You solved all his little puzzles, played all his brightly-colored, flashing light games, and found him in the heart of it all, lounging with a, “Congratulations, Batsy!” banner hanging in the background. It was the first time you saw him since That Night and you weren’t as prepared to see him as you thought you were. Measure was your initial response at the funhouse; you wanted to reason with him, get through to him, but after everything had time to set in you couldn’t help the fantasy that sprung to mind in that moment. You couldn’t help but think about him shrieking with delight as you would fight him as aggressively and as ruthlessly as you possibly could - excessively so, egregiously so - and he would do the same. There was no definite winner in this fantasy. 

In reality, you did as little damage as possible, cuffed him, and brought him back to Arkham. You will never let yourself forget that this is all a destructively inappropriate response by a hurting and mentally ill friend.  
____________________________________________________________________________

You wake up to wind gently raking its way through your hair and to the sight of Gotham’s light polluted night sky meeting the black water of the river, handcuffed to a steering wheel. The handcuffs are uncomfortably tight, to the point that, even if you dislocated your thumbs, it’d be difficult to get out of them. You assume John did this on purpose to harken to the past, and that combined with the kidnapping and false imprisonment irritates you, to say the least. You’re already in the position of a loss of control. In your peripheral vision, you can see John sitting in the passenger seat, watching you with an expression you can’t decipher. You move your eyes to try to see him more clearly but his face morphs, going from whatever it was to flustered. 

“Buddy! You’re awake! They certainly don’t make horse tranquilizer like they used to!” 

He seems to remember himself, as his expression morphs once again, this time to a smirk. You open your mouth to comment on the change in an attempt to grab hold of the side of John that he’s trying to hide, but close it once you realize you have no idea how to comment on that without setting him off. He laughs at the display, but the laugh isn’t as mean as you know it’s capable of being. 

“I know we’re near the Gotham River, but you’re not a fish, Brucie.” 

He puts his hands up near his mouth to mimic fins and imitates your mouth movements. One of his favorite things to do ever since you two became what you are now is tease you, which is sometimes devastatingly effective, but other times, like this, leaves you vaguely annoyed and more-than-vaguely fascinated. This is definitely the same man who requested a pinky-swear in a bar. How someone can be simultaneously so violent but capable of bizarre and earnest wholesomeness is not something you understand. 

“Why are we at the Gotham River?” you ask, because it seems a good of starting point as any. You also could have led with, “Why did you shoot me with what was apparently horse tranquilizer when you have my phone number?” but you ultimately know the answer to that question already, so that would be pointless. 

John claps his hands together. “I’m so glad you asked! You remember the last time we were here, together?” 

You wish you didn’t. “You blew up a part of the Gotham Bridge and then fell into the water with Harley.” 

“Ah yes,” he looks towards the water fondly, placing his hand on his chest, “my dark baptism.” 

He looks towards you, a mixture of resentment and something else on his face. “And you were the catalyst. I figure, if we’re going to do this, we should go back to where it happened.” 

A rush of shame and anger hits, and you’re uncertain as to which one should win out. You decide to vocalize the shame and leave the anger for later. Another thing to build up to. 

“I’m sorry -”

“Ah, ah, ah!” he cuts you off. “I’m going to stop you before the wheels get hot.”

His whole body language shifts and the tone of the conversation changes along with it. He takes his knees off the dashboard and places them firmly on the ground, leaning towards you. His eyes gaze into yours like the eye contact is an act of invasion and aggression, and his mouth is stretched into a shark grin. John is now on the attack. You wonder if that also means he’s on the defense. 

“When you came to Arkham, I gotta admit, my initial response was chilly! I thought to myself, “Now, why is someone I’m only meant to interact with when they’re dressed like a bat coming to see me? Why are they breaking the rules like this? Haven’t they done enough?” But then I thought, “Bruce Wayne - master businessman, darling son of Gotham - wants to enter into negotiations. Like we’re sitting at a round table in some disgustingly lavish Fortune 500 company headquarters! Now, how could I pass an opportunity like that up?

So, buddy, here’s my proposition: I’m not going to completely stop attacking Gotham. You and I have developed a rapport in that area that, as it stands, you’d have to pry from my cold, dead hands. However, I am willing to cool it a bit if you do just one thing for me.” 

Even though this is playing out in the most realistic fashion you previously conceived, this is still not what you truly wanted. This doesn’t feel like reconciliation.

You decide to go along with it anyway, because minor progress is better than none. “Which is?” 

“Despite what I said before, I’ve decided that we really haven’t had enough time to talk. I want to have little get togethers - not unlike this one - at least once a week. I’ll text you the details and expect you to come. That’s all.” 

You are justifiably suspicious. At face-value, this is encouraging; if he meets with you, that means there’s more time to communicate. It suggests an openness for the reconciliation that you long for. However, considering the inhabitable nuclear zone of malice he radiated throughout that entire spiel and currently, you’re anxious that this is about something else. Finding out that “something else” is only going to happen if you go along with it. Thinking about this is exhausting. Still, you want to hear his explanation.

“Why do you want to meet?” you ask. You try to adjust the too-tight handcuffs, fidgeting. 

He acts taken aback, and it’s a farce. “Do you not want to meet? What happened to caring about me?” 

You sigh in frustration. “I do care about you, and I do want to meet. I just want to know why.” 

For the first time in awhile, his face falters slightly. “You said you want to make things right. As the person who was wronged,” he seethes out the last word, “I am interested in things being righted.” 

“You’re fairly hostile for someone that wants to be friendly,” you say, unable to help yourself. 

He grits his teeth. “Maybe it’s because we’re at stage one of the healing process.”

You’re still not convinced, and part of you feels bad over not being convinced. Your behavioral patterns are as cyclical as windmills. You try to break the cycle. 

“How much is “a bit”?” you ask. 

He grins brightly. “One attack a month max, and I’ll even give you a head start. Promise.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright, let’s do this.” 

He stares at you the same way he did back in Arkham, just for longer. You wish you could know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. Then, he begins to look exceedingly pleased with himself. You’re not sure what you’re getting yourself into.  
____________________________________________________________________________

It’s not that you believe you should trust indiscriminately. Life as a crime-fighter teaches you that with brutal and surgical precision. It’s not that you believe that John in his current form is a particularly trustworthy person. Even when you look back at the whole incident that started this mess, you had reason to question John’s explanation. You just took it too far and didn’t realize the full implications of your actions. It’s just that when the cracks in the foundation of a friendship were made entirely by the weight of betrayal, lies, and mistrust, there is no other option for moving forward.

It’s a leap of faith. It makes you nauseous and shaky.


	3. Chapter 3

John was kind enough to uncuff you, rapidly push you out of the car, and then drive away with enough gusto that his tires screeched and smoked. His departing message was, “Decorum has to be earned!” You figure it could’ve been worse. Calling Alfred pops into your mind, but then you remember that he isn’t an option anymore and you’re going to have to get home on your own. You call a cab. 

After you arrive you immediately go down into the Batcave, just to feel the dampness of it and hear the soft fluttering of wings. Against your better judgement, you gravitate towards John’s trophy case. You stare at it blankly for awhile, as if it will hold the answers as to how you should feel about what just happened, and about John in general. It, predictably, doesn’t work. You pull up you shirt to look at the scar he gave you, ghosting your fingers over it. Despite yourself and the horror of the wound, you do remember the good times with John when you see it. The juxtaposition was entirely intentional on John’s part. Your heart yearns in an uncomfortable way and you instantly try to clamp down. Growling in frustration, you tuck your shirt back in and walk away. 

You were going to go out on patrol tonight, but you’re still slightly woozy from the tranquilizer, so that idea is out. Collapsing onto the computer chair, you close your eyes and breathe in deeply. 

Breaking it down logically, tonight was a success, considering that you at one point thought any sort of deal with John was far-fetched. It was a success that was entirely dependent on John though, which you’re acutely aware of. You’re relieved that there’s a possibility for reconciliation, but the possibility of ulterior motives is also present. Then again, there’s That Night and how he confessed to you how badly he wanted to believe you would be his friend. It seems at least possible that he’s being genuine. However, you also remember his response when you told him that things didn’t have to be this way, how resolutely convinced he was that all you could ever be was enemies. There’s no reason for this to have changed, unless you showing up at Arkham was that influential, which you doubt. You examine your thoughts and think about windmills again. You clear your head of the misgivings and the uncertainty and try to focus on the definitive. If there’s one comfort you can take out of the night, it’s that Gotham is hopefully going to be a little quieter, a little safer. 

When you open your eyes, they immediately lock on to the Batsuit. It’s only been recently that you’ve felt anything other than pride when looking at it. Before, it seemed like the crowning achievement of your life, the physical embodiment of your self-actualization, something that represented nothing but altruism and justice. Now, post-Joker, you realize thinking only in terms of the greater good has its consequences on those that fall below it. You don’t know how to reconcile the two things. You also don’t know how to reconcile being the Bat and your complicated feelings for John. It only takes a quick peek to know the nature of those feelings, and they don’t make sense when they’re directed towards a mass murderer. Even when you focus on his abundance of crimes, letting yourself feel the anger, the feeling doesn’t go away. You can acknowledge the care and the guilt, but you have a hard time acknowledging that. You clamp down again. 

You wonder what the meetings are going to be like. With the way John said it, it’s clear that he wants them to be completely on his terms, a fact you’re uncomfortable with and you know he knows you’re uncomfortable with. It’s a sensation you’re going to have to get used to. 

Whatever John throws at you, you hope you can take it.  
____________________________________________________________________________

This is not what you were expecting. Even when he texted you the location and told you to wear a Hawaiian shirt with khaki shorts - something you specifically had to buy for this occasion - this is not what you were expecting. 

“It’s Tropical Night at Larry’s!” John exclaims, gesturing to a hole-in-the-wall bar across the street. It’s located in one of the worst areas of Gotham.

Going to Tropical Night at Larry’s sounds like hell to you, and judging by that glint in John’s eyes, he knows this. You then remember that this is the same man who has a murder count in the hundreds at this point, and you’re left wondering why he’s being so tame. It encourages you to think he’s taking this seriously, in his own way. 

John changed his regular attire for the occasion: the pink that normally surrounds his eyes has been replaced with a red-orange ombre, and his suit is shaded in matching pinks and oranges. You’re drawn to it. You force yourself to look away. 

“There is a high probability of someone here recognizing me and starting something,” you warn. 

John laughs and puts his hands on his hips, looking smugly self-assured. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’ve got my finger right on the pulse of this place. No one will bother us.” 

For the first time since this whole situation began, you don’t struggle to believe him. The Joker’s infamy has spread far and wide. You also get the sense that he’s showing off for you. 

He gestures for you to follow him in and you take the plunge. The bar is decorated exactly like you’d expect a dive bar with a theme night to be; inflatable palm trees everywhere, twinkling red lantern lights, Hawaiian flower cut-outs - typical Party City fare. It stands in stark contrast to all the ritzy galas you were always invited to until the man you’re currently trialling started destroying everything Bruce Wayne has ever even remotely touched and people got the memo. Tropical Night must not be that big of a success, as there’s only one other person besides you two and the woman at the bar. She eyes John uneasily, and then looks shocked when she sees you. For the second time in recent memory, you’re looked at like you’re suicidal. You give a little smile to try to put her at ease. You doubt it works. 

John points out a booth in the back corner and tells you to go sit down while he gets drinks. You try to tell him you don’t drink, but he ignores you. The upholstery of the booth looks like it saw better days several years ago and the table is sticky and stained. It occurs to you that John seems to feel the most comfortable in places like this, which is something you store away for later analysis. 

He comes back with a giant margarita glass adorned with an umbrella and a swirly straw and what looks like whiskey. 

“I seriously don’t drink.” 

“I don’t care. Drink your whiskey, Brucie.” 

You’re starting to get tired of being bossed around, but you know this is how it’s going to be at first. You take a sip. 

“Burns you in all the right ways, right?” he asks. 

There’s no way you want to be burned. This seems a harmless truth, so you decide to be share. “I’ve never enjoyed the taste of alcohol. I’ve just drank it in the past because it was viewed as strange not to.” 

John smirks. “And because it makes you head all fuzzy, huh? What if there was an emergency and your just flat-on-your-butt plastered? No sir, not the valiant Bruce Wayne.” 

It was stupid of you not to have seen that coming. You lean back in your seat, pressing your palms against the table’s edge. 

This is a not-so-harmless truth, but you decide to share. “Yeah, that too.” 

This seems to take the wind of John’s sails slightly. He mimics what you just did with his palms and the table. You go in for the attack. 

“Joker, you’ve never given me the chance to properly explain myself -” John starts yawning, “but I really want to try to.” 

There’s mirth in his eyes. “”Try to”? I appreciate your honesty about your flaws.” 

He looks away from you, considering. “Why would I let you now when I haven’t in the past?” 

The fact that he admits to that annoys and relieves you simultaneously. “I don’t know what’s changed, but why else would you be here?” 

He gives a furtive smile, like there’s a private joke here. “You seem to think that you making things right and us becoming an inspirational image of the wronged and the forgiven are the same thing. Why would it? You did, after all, break my heart.” 

He stabs his drink with the straw violently. You want to point out how John broke your heart as well and how you’ve already told him as much, but you suspect you’d get a very similar response to what you received before, so you hold yourself back. 

“What do you have to lose by hearing me out?” you ask instead. 

This makes John bunch up his shoulders and bite his lip. You cock your head. Why did that question make him nervous? 

“I-I don’t have anything to lose,” he seems to remember something and steels himself accordingly, “I don’t owe you anything! Why should I listen to you when I don’t owe you a single thing?”  
You draw the line there, leaning forward. “I’m not the only one who’s done wrong here.” 

He barks out a cruel laugh. “You brought it on yourself, buddy.” 

You eye the whiskey, somewhat wishing you did drink. You decide to return to what John said before. 

“How can I make things right, then?” 

“Are you asking as Bruce or,” John puts two fingers pointing upwards next to his temples to finish the question. 

His commitment to keeping your secret is another thing that perplexes you. It is, however, nice not to have to worry about that on top of everything else. 

“Both, I guess?” 

You reconsider and look him directly in the eyes. “But primarily Bruce.” 

You expect the effect you receive. John gives you an expression that’s far more John than Joker. He looks moved. He quickly hides it, but you saw it. Your heart swells. 

John throws out the straw and takes a large gulp of his margarita straight from the glass. He’s lost in thought for a few moments, chewing his bottom lip again. Suddenly his gaze snaps to you and it’s bright and on the edge of mania. 

“You wanna know how you can make things right? Dr Leland has always said you can’t change the past, but you can control your future. So here’s this: you can never betray or abandon me like that again. Always be the man I need and want you to be. Never leave Gotham. Never stop being Batman. Never stop being Bruce Wayne. If we’re going to do this, I want your undying commitment that you will never hurt me like that again.”

The two of you sit in electric-tense silence until John jolts at the same time you hear a vibration from his direction. He takes out his cell phone and looks at the screen like he doesn’t understand what it is, then looks up at you, then back to the screen. He types something quickly and puts it back in his pocket. His expression now is so different it’s bewildering; it’s all cool disregard and amusement. 

“Looks like I’m going to have to cut this meeting short, ol’ pal. The Mrs needs me,” he says, his voice becoming dreamy during the last part. 

You instantly and overwhelmingly deflate. You nod slowly, looking down. He gets up and stretches, and you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Bruce.” 

You look up. 

He pauses, working his jaw. “Explain what you’ve been wanting to next time. It better be good.” 

He shuffles on his feet. “Meet me tomorrow? Cafe Triste?”

You nod. This is progress, even if it’s unnerving progress.


	4. Chapter 4

You feel triumphant up until the point you realize this means you’re going to have to be transparent about your feelings. Fumbling like you did back at Arkham isn’t an option; this is likely the only time that John is going to give an open ear to what you need to say. You’re going to have to show your lungs and your heart and the two reactionary extremes that he’s capable of doling out are gleeful destruction and an eager embrace. Both invoke fear in equal measure, even though one has been your goal all along. Getting your heart broken yet again would be devastating, but a life with John in it as a companion would have widespread complications.  

Would you convince him to turn himself in? Do you have the capacity to convince him? Could you bring yourself to? There’s a sense of obligation there, and you see the value of it, but you think about him being in Arkham - really think about it - and you’re at a loss. You doubt that immediately trying to thrust him back into Arkham is what he would see as “undying commitment” and never betraying him again. The solution would be to convince him it isn’t either abandonment or betrayal, but that task seems nigh impossible, particularly when Arkham is in the condition it is. This doesn’t even touch upon how his presence would set in motion the thing you’re not ready to understand. You think about how he talked about his heart, and how you so consistently use the same language. The truth of your emotions worms its way in relentlessly and without regard to your consent. The truth of John’s does the same, with what he said about commitment and the look in his eyes as he said it. You do want to commit, and you know you have to express that, but that look had so much in it you feel like you could drown. But, you’re getting ahead of yourself.

The truth is that you’ve been pushed into a corner. This is for John, so you’re going to have to find a way.

____________________________________________________________________________

Similarly to the first meeting, you’re not certain what you’re going to find when you get there. A strong contender is that you’re going to find John holding the entire street cafe hostage while you have your meeting. He may also opt for going undercover, which is something you’d love to see just for the novelty of someone that flamboyant becoming understated. When you arrive at 3:00AM, you discover the latter possibility. His shock of green hair is tucked under a blush pink baseball cap and he’s wearing a much more muted version of what he usually does. His face is devoid of make-up, and if possible, paler than usual. He’s fidgeting and writing on a napkin aggressively. It’s comforting to know he’s nervous too, but you don’t understand over what. He doesn’t have a drink in front of him, so you decide to use that as the icebreaker.

“Do you want anything?”

He jolts, like you surprised him. He goes to hid the napkin in his pant pocket. “Bruce! Uh, sure, definitely.”

He lowers his voice. “I didn’t want to go up because I thought the lady there might recognize me.”

And that surprises you. You really did think you’d arrive to a tense situation. John’s moods are still something you don’t have a firm grasp on.

"Yeah, I get that. What do you want?”

“Surprise me!”

You remember the supersized and ultra sugary drink he got last time, so you go with that. For yourself, you just get a latte with two extra shots of espresso. You sit down at the same table you two did the first time you came here, which inspires nostalgia and hopefulness that John chose this table specifically with that memory in mind. When John sees what drink you got him, he squeals in delight.

“You remembered!” he exclaims, snatching the drink straight out of your hand and taking a big gulp. Something seems to occur to him because his face falls and he looks down.

“I guess you did pay attention, sometimes.”

He looks back up, determined. “Explain.”

Months have been building up to this moment. You don’t know exactly what you’re going to say until it just pours out of you.

“When I became,” you pause, “when I decided to start my nightly activities, all I ever wanted to do was make people’s lives better. I’ll admit that the way I choose it was entirely because of my own,“ you pause again, swallowing the lump of coal in your mouth, “issues and tendencies, but I have always wanted to make Gotham safer.”

“This isn’t the best start, Bruce,” John interrupts.

You give him a pleading look and he huffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He motions for you to continue.

“And in thinking about Gotham, I sometimes neglected to think about the people around me. Alfred is a good example. You are too.”

You look down, unable to meet his eyes for the next part. This is like trying to push through a concrete wall that prevents you from speaking. “I’m sorry that I used you. I could tell you liked me and I took advantage of that for my own gain. I thought I was doing the right thing, but you’ve taught me that I can’t treat people like that for any reason, even the so-called greater good.”

“I’m tickled pink that I had the opportunity to teach you that lesson,” John says bitterly.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” you agree.

He sighs and takes another sip of his drink.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“I’m also sorry I didn’t trust you. The circumstances were suspicious -” he looks like he wants to hit you, “- but I took it too far. I knew what Waller was like; she would’ve done anything to get that virus, including killing Harley and anyone that was with her. Regardless of all of that, as a friend, I should’ve trusted that you were telling the truth.”

“Particularly because _not_ trusting someone in that circumstance _destroys the relationship,”_ he seethes.

“Particularly when that person has done nothing but try to be a good friend,” you add.

He looks like he really, really wants to be angry but that a number of other emotions are contending with it.

“I was just so,” you fidget, “concerned that you were lying and I’d be betrayed.”

“Concerned!” he cackles. “So you betrayed me before I could betray you.”

You say nothing.

“Well, you covered all the bases of why you were a terrible, awful, no good human being to me. That’s something.”

You want to ask him what he thinks, but that seems too direct. You decide to go further.

“I wouldn’t do something like that again.”

“Oh yeah? How can you promise that?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

He leans forward, on the attack. “Those pesky trust issues are still there, right? How can you promise that, should a situation like that come again, you wouldn’t just do the same thing?”

“I can’t promise you a hundred percent,” he starts to laugh, but you press on, “but I can give my commitment that I will try with all I can. I won’t lie to you and say that I can do something I can’t.”

This causes him to go quiet. He looks up at the sky, contemplating for awhile. You feel nauseous and unequipped to deal with the emotions charging the atmosphere. You don’t know if your explanation was good enough because all John is solely radiating hostility. You knew it was naive to think that you explaining yourself would make everything better, but you’re realizing now that’s how you were hoping this would go. You haven’t even broached the topic of the ways he’s wronged you. You think about this all failing - about things staying this way perpetually, about you only having a relationship with him as Batman - and it’s unbearable.

“You say all of this like it’s new information for me. I know you, Bruce. More than anyone else does. I know why you do the things you do -”

You sink into your chair. This was such a terrible idea, you should’ve just -

“ - which is also why I know how hard it must’ve been for you to say all of this. To have trusted me enough to make a deal in the first place.”

John smiles and it’s strained, but also soft.

“You know, when we came here that first time, I swear I saw stars. I know that’s dumb; there’s no way with the amount of light pollution in this city I actually saw anything. But even knowing that, I swear I saw their little twinkles illuminating the background of our outing.”

He gets a look in his eye you have a hard time taking. “We were talking about Harley, but you made me feel that way.”

You can’t look at him for the second time since this meeting started.

“Here’s how this is going to go,” John starts, “I’m not going to say I forgive you. What I will say, however, is that I appreciate what you’ve done so far to prove to me that you really want for this to work. However, there’s something else that you need to do to prove to me that this relationship is going to be what I wanted it to be from that start.

“What is it?”

He smirks. “You’ll see.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The following night, you receive a text message with an attached image that makes your heart sink with dread.

“ _Here’s the list of locations that Harls and I placed bombs in. I promise you the bombs will only go off if I get word of your presence or see you for myself. Cross my heart and hope to die! Don’t forget I have eyes everywhere. :)_

_Turn on the GNN. Good luck staying away. :D”_

The list has ten locations, including a number of heavily populated places around Gotham, as well as one - the Grace Milford Memorial Center, an old and well-loved recreational center - that’s isolated outside the Gotham City limits and closed this time of night. You rush to the TV and turn it onto the GNN. Predictably, unmercifully, John has hijacked the GNN with Harley. They’re sitting in front of camera as if they’re newscasters.

“Good evening, Gotham!” Harley says, “Tonight the shockingly despicable supervillain Harley Quinn and her equally horrendous partner Joker” - John waves with a big smile, “have planted not one, not two, but ten bombs in various hotspots around Gotham and the surrounding area, all set to go off at midnight!”

The camera cuts away from them and to what you recognize to be the Grace Milford Memorial Center. It’s only focused on it for a few moments until the unmistakable sound of a bomb going off occurs and it goes up in flames. The camera turns back to John and Harley.

“Just a tinsy demonstration to really get everyone going!” Harley says, and John laughs.

John turns to the secondary camera. “The locations have been released to the Bat, who will have to race against time to defuse each and every one of them! So Gotham, let’s have a little test: will Batman come through, or not?”

You stare at the TV, gobsmacked. This is exactly something that John would do. If this is genuine, it is testing everything you said to him over the last two meetings: the remorse, the desire to trust, and the attempt to not let the commitment to the greater good overshadow the individual.

You sit down. What are you supposed to do? There’s no reason for you to believe that the bombs aren’t real, like John and Harley did once in the past. If you go with the possibility that this is something he’s orchestrated purely to test you, then while it looks like he’s fully fine with destroying one building, he’s not going to let anyone get hurt unless you intervene. However, what if this was some elaborate ruse of his all along? What if the reason he made the deal in the first place was to get you to this point - for you to trust him and be doing everything to try to get you two to be friends - only to betray you in the same way you betrayed him? It would make sense; it would explain his self-satisfaction upon you agreeing, his sudden agreeability to hearing you out, his furtive smiles, his ever-persistent anger, his odd nervousness. It’s something you feel like he has the capacity to do. It’s something you could even possibly see him reveling in. He considers you enemies, not friends. Furthermore, the public faith in Batman would be shook to the core if they all go off and there was no sign that the Bat even tried to make an appearance. How is he supposed to be seen as a force for justice if he won’t even stop a location of bombs when he has a list directly telling him where they are?

These two thoughts have you barreling down to the cave. You go up to the Batsuit, ready to put it on, but then force yourself to pause. But, what if he’s telling the truth? In that case, not only would people get hurt, but your relationship with John would be completely ruined. In both scenarios, people could get hurt because of your actions.

You’re stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea without knowing which is more dangerous. It’s tempting to go and see if you can stealth around the goons you imagine are guarding the bombs, but doing that successfully for ten separate locations seems incredibly unlikely. John planned all of this, of course; he put you in a situation where your only choice is to trust him or not trust him. Which one seems more likely? You know which one you want to be true, but which one seems more likely?

You think about how this all started with a strange and unnerving man you met in Arkham. You think about the funeral and his enthusiasm over seeing you - his condolence card and his request that, in retrospect, you realize was just to incorporate you into his life - and how he helped you at the Pact’s base, the roleplay at Cafe Triste, the spa, the funhouse, That Night. You remember his desperation for you to believe him and his violent agony later on. You remember him talking about stars and good memories and hope and love.

You take a seat at the computer, turn on the police radar, and wait. The breaking of a windmill, a leap of faith.

No bombs go off at midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the dawn of a new era :)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

The only thing more powerful than the relief over John’s sincerity is the joy over seeing him at your doorstep an hour later. These emotions are transformed into concern, however, when you look at him and see nothing but panic _._ The last time you saw him like this it was in a room full of corpses. You prepare for the breakdown you suspect you’re about to receive.

He pushes past you in a flurry, mumbling something you don’t catch. You close the door.

“What?” you ask.

“You were supposed to fail!” he shouts, sounding broken and desperate. “You were supposed to come flying into the scene to save the day and I was supposed to murder some people and then laugh and laugh and laugh. It was supposed to be grand!

But you ruined it! You’ve ruined everything. Again!”

He laughs a laugh so defeated it makes you want to reach out to him, but you’re afraid of making it worse. You try to calm your own building panic.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t it a good thing I passed your test?”

“No! Well, yes -” he throws his hands up in the air, “- I don’t know!”

You give him a questioning look and he sighs with frustration.

“I don’t know if I can explain,” he says. 

“Can you try?” you ask gently.

He looks down into one of the hallways of the Manor. You don’t usually go down to that part this time of night, so it’s pitch black. The only light is the lamp by the door, illuminating his face and making it seem even more ghostly than usual.

“I think about you a lot. I’ve always thought about you a lot - even before we met - but it’s gotten really intense since everything’s happened. I just love what we have now so much; I love the thrill of it, the scuffles, how we push each other to the edge in a way no one else can. But…”

He rolls his shoulders and inches backwards.

“...I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about what could’ve been. What I wanted things to be originally. It’s been haunting my every waking thought and my every dream. I can’t get the idea out of my head! It’s been ruining what we have now for me. Every time I fight you I imagine fighting _with_ you. It’s been so frustrating! So, when you came to Arkham and said you wanted to reconcile, I thought about it and realized that this was maybe an opportunity to purge this from my head once and for all.

Do you get where I’m going with this? I thought that I’d give you one last shot, but you were supposed to fail. Then, maybe, _maybe,_ I could _finally_ get it through my thick skull to let go of the idea of having that sort of relationship with you! I could prove to myself that you could never change or get better, that it was completely hopeless! Fat joke that was, huh? Because _you passed._ This was supposed to be dead and done, but you _had to pass_. What am I supposed to do now?”

It takes a minute to process the implications of this. The same behaviors that you thought of when you were trying to make your decision earlier that might’ve been indicative of his deception come to mind and suddenly things make a lot more sense. Then comes the hurt from the realization that he was so certain you’d fail that he decided to go through with this, followed by the questions about the veracity of everything that’s been said so far. Your leap of faith did bear fruit, but some of that fruit is rotten.

“So you never thought you could actually trust me.”

He looks distressed at this. You think you must have a similar expression. “Not...really. Part of me wanted it to be, but I thought that was just idealism.”

The irony.

“And what you said about appreciating what I had done so far?”

“That was true! I just didn’t think you could, you know, actually go the next step.”

The anger that you’ve been keeping buried on account of the fact that this is someone you care about whose struggling with mental illness rises. He’s also someone who just shamelessly manipulated you in a way that, if the roles had been reversed, he would’ve killed people in response to. Not only that, but he just tested you in a way that was so unfair and so demanding that it physically drained you. You want to shout, but you know that would lead to nothing productive. You turn away from him. It’s not as if you expected anything different, but it still hurts. You try to remember that everyone has reasons for doing what they do and John’s is grief. Do not undermine the progress that has been made tonight. This is something that you’ll definitely have to talk about later, but not now, not when everything is this tentative and tenuous. Inhale, exhale.

You turn back, lean against the door, and return to what he said previously. “What do you mean by not knowing what to do now? Isn’t the answer obvious?”

He starts pacing in front of you. ““Isn’t the answer obvious?”” he mocks in what you guess is an impression of your voice. “Ha!”

“No, _Bruce,_ it’s not obvious. We can’t just...become actual friends.”

“Why not?”

He gapes. “Do you realize how many people I’ve killed because of you? For you?”

You shift, uncomfortable but resolute. “No person is irredeemable, Joker.”

“So your affection is conditional. What if I don’t want to be redeemed? What if I want things to stay just the way they are?”

“If my affection was conditional we wouldn’t be here right now. Besides, why would you want that? You just said you can’t stop thinking about how you wanted things to go before.”

“You don’t get it. If we’re enemies our bond can weather so much more, we could do anything to each other and still be together, it’s unconditional; friendship is so much more -” he pauses, “- fragile.”

He looks at you directly in the eyes. “I’m not going to lose you over one fantasy when I can have you in reality in another way.”

Your breath is stuck in your throat. You think about how John called your current dynamic beautiful and the concept of it having an unconditionality that friendship can’t have. This clarifies his panic. His logic isn’t something you agree with, but you can see where he’s coming from. You wonder if it’s your fault that John thinks that unconditional affection is such an impossibility. You also think about the layers of irony in that, though you don’t think that he sees it.

You walk up to him and clasps his shoulders in your hands. He looks shocked at the direct contact, but doesn’t shy away from it. You struggle out your next words. “If my affection was conditional, would I have done anything I have done up until this point? What ulterior motive could I have?”

He looks surprised, and then looks down in contemplation. He stays quiet for what feels like hours until finally saying a barely audible, “It could’ve been for Gotham. Seduce me so I stop the whole mass homicide thing.”

“I guess you’re just going to have to trust I did it because I believed you and believed in you.”

He gets a bit of a sour look on his face at this and you have to hold back a laugh. You want to hug him but you’re afraid that’s going too far. You squeeze lightly, then drop your hands off his shoulders.

“I mean it, trust me. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

He laughs, but he looks like he wants to cry. You wish you could soothe away the amount of conflict you see on his face.

“You really mean this, don’t you? You really want to actually be real, actual friends with me?”

“Yes.”

He takes a while, but comes to a decision. “Alright, let’s try this.”

You smile brightly at him and he can’t seem to help giving one back. He solves your hugging dilemma by getting on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around your back, and perching his chin on your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him in return.

“I’m still mad at you about, well, everything,” he says. 

“I’m sort of mad at you too, John,” you say.

He makes an indignant noise at first, but then sighs. You don’t get a response to that, but you didn’t expect one. Baby steps. The usage of his original name seems to trigger something inside him because he backs up from you and pleadingly looks at you. “I don’t...I don’t want the Batman-Joker thing to stop.”

This, admittedly, confuses you. “Pardon?”

“I’ll agree to this friendship thing if we keep that relationship intact. Just for now!”

“Until…?”

“Until I can really and honestly trust you. Let me like, wean myself off, okay? I’ll keep up my once a month deal and even keep it non-fatal! Just buildings and stuff.”

“O-okay,” you say. Baby steps, again.

John seems to suddenly remember something because he gasps. “Oh god, what am I going to tell Harley?”

That was something you’ve been wondering about. “Does she know we’ve been meeting?”

He laughs like you’re an idiot. “Uh, no Bruce, I haven’t told her I’ve been meeting with you.”

He looks at his phone and grimaces. “She’s already mad at me over the whole bomb fiasco. She knows I know how to make bombs, and she’s not dumb enough to believe I made a mistake on all of them, so now she knows that I didn’t set them off on purpose. That’s no good.

I should get going. Think about how to handle -” he gestures wildly, “- all of this.”

This isn’t exactly how you wanted this to go, but you understand. “Take your time.”

‘I’ll call you,” John says, giving you the type of smile you missed seeing from him.

You know this doesn’t mean the resolution of everything. There’s still so much you have to talk about with him: the ways he’s treated you, what the future for you two is going to look like in regards to John getting the help he needs, the Batman-Joker relationship, the general dynamic, the baggage, resentment, and grief paired with that Something that has been brewing between the two of you for awhile. But for now, you’re satisfied in the warm glow of the present moment created from the accomplishment you two just made tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes an astounding total of five minutes after John leaves for you to realize you admitted to having unconditional feelings of affection for him, which is too close to the truth you’ve been resolutely ignoring. It inspires such a panicky feeling within you that the fight-or-flight reflex of your brain wants to call him and tell him you never want to see him again. You don’t do it, but the fact that it’s something that even came to your head has undeniable meaning. 

John and you are starting to become the friends you should’ve been from the start. You’re rapidly approaching the time in which you will not be able to avoid this for any longer. You take a small peek at what you’ve been feeling. 

John captivated you whenever you saw him in action. Sometimes when you close your eyes you think about his unnervingly wide smile, his clever schemes, his obsessive focus, his boundless and manic energy, and you feel such a powerful yearning that the panicky feeling sets in. And his villainary is just his current locus; you know that, if John were to set his mind to anything, he’d bring the same presence. Someone that alive makes you feel alive in the same way being Batman does, and what an odd realization that is. You never thought you’d be drawn to someone like this - a criminal, a murderer - but then you look a little deeper and realize you see a version of yourself that took a slightly different path, that the kinship doesn’t just come from the fact that you were both once patients at Arkham. The empathy and connection you feel is so overwhelming it makes your head spin. He’s so much more than his darkness, just as you’re more than yours. 

However, whenever you think about John’s goodness, the knowledge of his crimes and your subsequent anger come inevitably along with it. You don’t know how to overcome this anger, or if you even want to, if it’s even just to. It’s easy to imagine John saying the same thing about his own anger towards you, which causes you to deflate a bit. You know that on the overcoming anger front you’re going to have to set the example in the relationship. You know you’re the one that’s going to have to forgive first. The only other time your ability to forgive has been challenged this intensely, you failed. You remember telling Alfred you didn’t know how to let it go, and he had said, “Forgiveness is a choice you constantly make.” 

You just hope you can make it this time. 

____________________________________________________________________________

You’re at restoration meeting for one of the charity headquarters that John blew up when he calls you next. Not in the mood to talk to him, you put it on vibrate, which only causes him to call several more times before you finally give in and leave the room.

“What.” 

“Yikes, was kinda hoping for a warmer greeting after last time we saw each other.” 

You remember how well that night went and it calms you down a bit. “Sorry, it’s been a stressful day so far.” 

“I get that, buddy! What have you been up to?" 

You don’t particularly want to tell him, but you know that you two are approaching the point in the relationship where avoiding this topic is going to be to its detriment. You are still wary about bringing it up fully, so you decide to test the waters. 

“I’ve been meeting with some people about paying for a charity rebuild.” 

A pause. “A charity rebuild, huh.” 

“Yes.”

Another pause. “Well, -” a small, nervous laugh, “ - keep up the humanitarian effort!” 

This response is, in some ways, worse than him just outright mocking you. You sigh, he hears it, you can feel his scowl through the phone. This is going to take awhile. 

“Did you need something?” you ask. 

“Oh, right! I was calling to see if you maybe wanted to meet tonight, but if you aren’t in the mood -”

“When and where?” you ask, trying to not seem overly eager but maybe failing. 

“I’ll keep you in suspense and just pick you up around nine. So you’ll come?” 

“Yeah, I’ll come.” 

“Awesome! See ya tonight, Bruce!” 

He hangs up abruptly, but you think that’s more because of his lack of knowledge of phone decorum than anything else. 

Maybe something productive could get done tonight, like you two settling somewhere with the forgiveness matter. Making and pursuing a concrete goal puts you at ease from all the feelings that have been boiling up lately. Ease is a valuable commodity these days. 

____________________________________________________________________________

When John rolls up to the Manor, he’s dressed in a dark purple suit with green eyeshadow to match. It’s different from his Joker look, but similar enough to make you nervous, that is, until he gives you a warm smile that is distinctively unlike the Joker. You get in the car, marveling how you would’ve never done such a thing only a little while ago. 

“You have a lot of different outfits,” you stumble out for no apparent reason. 

He laughs. “We can’t all have the business formal uniform, Bruce.” 

He spreads his palms out in front of him, wiggling his fingers. “You like?” 

Yes, but you’d rather die than say that out loud. “It’s very you.” 

“In light of our budding friendship, I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he says, backing up to turn out from the Manor and towards Gotham. 

You don’t want to be on this subject any longer. “So, where are we going?” 

“First, ice cream. Then, we’re going up.” 

“Going up?” 

“To the rooftops! Just because we’re not fighting doesn’t mean we have to stay grounded.” 

You feel a sense of unease at this, but fight it. You’re not going to let your issues ruin this now, not after John has proved so much to you and you have proved so much to yourself. It’s a wonder if this isn’t another one of John’s test. If it is, you intend to pass. 

“Sounds great,” you say, shifting to get comfortable.    


John watches you closely for a moment, but he seems satisfied with what he finds, as his hands loosen from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. Slowly but surely, John is learning to be more comfortable with you, and you’re learning to be more comfortable with John. You don’t know if you should just let these tests be or address them before they become a pattern. You go with the latter. 

“This isn’t going to work if we test each other, John.” 

He whips his head around to look at you, then turns back to the road, sinking into his seat. He opens his mouth multiple times to start a sentence, expressions ranging from indignation, to disregard, to pleading, but then ultimately says nothing. 

He pivots to anger to save himself. You understand the urge completely. “You keep calling me John as if that’s my name.” 

“Do you still prefer that I call you Joker?” 

Anger is replaced by misery. “I don’t know yet.” 

John must be going through an identity crisis right now, what with the fact that his Joker persona was based largely on an adversarial relationship with you. You need to give him space and time to figure that out. “Let me know when you’ve got it sorted and I’ll call you whatever you want.” 

“Thanks, Bruce,” he says softly. 

The ice cream shop is located in a safer part of Gotham than you’re used to John bringing you to. He gets a giant cup with five different flavors, you opt for just coffee-flavored, which seems to amuse John endlessly. You follow him to a fire escape on a towering upper class apartment building. Once you get to the rooftop, Gotham sprawls below you, lights twinkling like stars and the distant Gotham River shimmering. You and him sit on the edge. 

“It’s our city, all bright and alive and humming!” John exclaims, bumping his shoulder with yours while he says so. “I know you see it all the time as Batman, but I thought you might enjoy some off-duty sightseeing.” 

He’s right, you do. You breathe in the polluted air and realize you haven’t felt this at home in a long time. You’re usually too busy when your Batman to truly soak in the beauty of your city. John may have not known you were going to come through, but you do agree he knows you and connects with you better than anyone else currently in your life does. 

You must be smiling because John looks self-satisfied. He pokes your cheek. “There it is, that’s the reaction I wanted.” 

You forgot how touchy John is. The panicky fight-or-flight is starting to kick in and it’s a long way down to the ground. 

John’s face falters. “You okay? You suddenly look kinda sick.” He laughs. “There’s no way you’re afraid of heights, right?” 

“I’m fine,” you mumble. 

He frowns at this, putting his ice cream cup down next to him and angling his body towards you. “Doesn’t really bode well for the whole trust thing if you lie straight to my face.” 

You rub your forehead with your hand, predicting how this could easily spiral out of control. Trying to nip it in the bud, you say, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to articulate this.” 

“Can you try?” he asks, and you realize he’s imitating you from the earlier night. Quid pro quo, you imagine. 

Except you’re not going to able to answer him like he answered you. “I...can’t.” 

He gives a frustrated growl and moves away from you. Pathetically, you miss his body heat.

“Great, awesome, stupendous. Don’t trust me with your stuff, it’s fine, I don’t care.” 

“Hey -” 

“No seriously, it’s not like I bared my soul to you or anything. It’s groovy.” 

You wonder when things aren’t going to be this hair-trigger with the two of you. John’s moods can be exhausting. You grab his shoulder to turn him back towards you. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or don’t want to tell you. I’ll tell you about it eventually, I just really, really, really can’t right now.” 

He analyzes your face and then his shoulders sag. “This is about your emotional constipation, isn’t it.” 

What are you even supposed to say to that? 

“...that’s a way to refer to it,” you finally settle on. 

John gives you the type of look a disappointed parent gives to a child. He scoots back closer to you, patting your hand after. 

“I understand, but I won’t forget this. It’s obviously important to you, so I want to know.” 

You wish he would forget about it. 

Looking out towards Gotham, you think about what you wanted tonight to be about, what Alfred said, and you steel yourself. 

“We’re going to have to forgive each other.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Should be easy for you.” 

You glare at him. “Do you really see no reason why I’d be mad at you?” 

“Oh, I see why you’d be mad, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t get what was coming to you.” 

You can’t keep the anger out of your voice. “You’ve killed so many innocent people and made it my fault.” 

Neither can he, but you don’t know if he actually tried to. “ _ You  _ made it your fault. I’m not going to apologize for what I did. I’m not sorry and I’m not going to lie about being sorry.”

He sighs. “All I’ll say is that I won’t do it in the future. For us.” 

You both gaze at each other for a long while. This is the best you’re going to get for now. John is never going to let go of that resentment until he’s taught to and that’s going to take time. As he is right now, you don’t think he’s capable of forgiving, so you try not to hold it against him. If anything is going to take time to resolve, it’s going to be this. Luckily, you believes you two have plenty of it. For now, all you can take is his commitment that the future is going to be different, just as he took your commitment that you would be different. Looking at him now you realize, despite the tenseness of the night and his refusal to take responsibility, you’re going to be able to make the choice to forgive this man. He may not have the capacity to forgive anyone that wrongs him as it stands, but you do. You care about him too much not to. 

“This may not mean much to you now, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it does in the future: forgiveness is a choice you constantly make, and I will constantly choose to forgive you."

He scoffs, but he seems to understand the weight of the moment because he doesn’t strike it down. Instead, he looks off towards the Gotham River, picking up his ice cream and taking a large bite.    


You have a hard time pinpointing what you’re feeling, so you reanalyze what you just said. You feel like you’re staring at the maw of a beast. You’re willing to forgive him like you failed to forgive before because you care about him. You go into the maw. You think of his vibrancy, his understanding of you, the connection that exists between the two of you. All this anger that is so deep-rooted and from such a place of grief but you’re willing to let go of it and to forgive him. He won’t even admit fault but you’re still willing. What does that say? You’re willing to forgive him because you’re…

Because you’re…

Fuck. 

You’re swallowed. 


	7. Chapter 7

You’re in love with John and there’s nothing you can do about it. There is no more avoidance, no more masking. It is so glaringly self-evident when you objectively look at your thoughts, emotions, and behaviors that you have to wonder at the mind’s ability to block out what it perceives as a threat. Whether or not John feels the same is a mystery that used to be as self-evident as your own love is now. Everything that you two have gone through together may have destroyed any romantic feelings John had. It’s difficult for you to imagine it didn’t, considering you can’t even make sense of the abnormalities that are your own feelings. There’s no way you can just ask either; a friendship that you believe has a real chance of being healthy is still at its infancy and you have no plans to ruin it just because you want more.

Keep it to yourself, that’s what you can do about it.

____________________________________________________________________________

Tonight is the second ever of what John has dubbed “Ice Cream Fridays.” Instead of sitting on the edge of the roof, you’re laying on your back in the center and John is laying on his stomach next to you, hands propping up his face. It would be a lie to say there isn’t still tension between the two of you, but the more and more time you spend with John the more and more you can see him settling into a relationship based off good intentions and trust. This particular meeting has been noteworthy because it’s been going on for two hours and the two of you haven’t argued once. Instead, John has been regalling you with stories from his days in Arkham pre-Joker. He speaks with such animation and childlike enthusiasm - all hands, varying tones, ever-changing expressions - accompanied with his own personal brand of eccentricity that you’re as captivated as you are when you’re Batman and he’s the Joker.

“...and Dr Leland really did love me. She’s a real diamond in the rough, that one. I miss her, they switched me to a new psychiatrist after our little dinner party. Which like, questionable, no? Wouldn’t I be more likely to succeed if I was with a doctor I liked and trusted?”

He gives a bitter laugh.

“I say this like Arkham is a reputable institution.”

It’s surprising it took this long to get to a sticky subject, though John hasn’t said anything accusatory yet. You decide to push it.

“Do you think you’d be okay with being in Arkham if it was the way it was before?”

He snorts. “After everything that’s happened? No way. Bird grew out of that nest way back. It’s not my home anymore.”

He then examines you for a bit, opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it again to say, “Why do you ask?”

You take the neutral response as an encouragement to push further.

“I was just wondering if you ever miss the mental health services you got there. I’ve always gotten the impression that Dr Leland had a positive impact on your life.”

He narrows his eyes and you immediately know you’ve gone too far.

“That’d be pretty convenient for you if true. You could shove me in there guilt-free and without having to worry about retaliation if you wave your magic Bruce Wayne wand and make it go back to how it used to be.” 

The only upside to the comment is that it’s noticeably less sardonic in tone than the same comment would’ve been before. He sounds more wary than anything else. It represents a transition from certainty of your ill-will to just suspicion of it. Even so, it’s painful for you that, after everything, he still thinks there’s a distinct possibility that you want to get rid of him, that the mistrust runs that deep.

Resisting the urge to let out a heavy sigh, you say, “Or maybe I want the best for you and therefore am trying to figure out how to give that to you."

He seems to consider this for awhile before his face transforms into an expression of unabashed yearning. “I can’t tell you how badly I want that to be true, Bruce.”

He then shakes his head, looking away from you. He just shut down, but he chose to be open for a brief moment. You want to say, “Then why don’t you?” to see if you can coax out any more of that vulnerability, but you’ve already pushed him enough during this conversation.

Instead, you opt for, “I want you to believe it too.”

“I have a hard time believing it given your track record of dumping me there,” he says suddenly, full of animosity.

“I never enjoyed putting you in Arkham,” you say regretfully. 

“What a coincidence, I’ve never enjoyed being there.”

You’re being confronted with a problem that you’ve yet to solve. “I didn’t - I didn’t know what other option I had to keep Gotham safe.”

He cackles. “There’s the hero we all know and love! Guess it’s a good thing I made a deal with -” his voice grows low and menacing, “- the Dark Knight.”

His voice goes back to normal, but tinged with hurt, “I’d be rotting in Arkham otherwise!”

You bite your lip. You wish you could tell him that, even if you two hadn’t have made that deal, you have figured out a way not to throw him back in Arkham. Now that John has committed to limiting his mayhem to only property damage, the threat is less severe, but you’re not naive enough to think that there’s no possibility of someone getting accidentally hurt, or no possibility of John deciding he doesn’t want to do this anymore. Even if these weren’t factors in play, there’s still the matter of him getting the proper mental health care he needs and deserves that he’s obviously not getting at Arkham. You’re going to have to figure out some other way, both for future reference and just in case of the worst.

It’s a difficult to grapple with the fact that Gotham and John have become equally important to you when helping one sometimes means hurting the other.

John jolts you out of your thoughts by gently knocking his finger against your temple. “Do you mean it? That you never enjoyed it.”

You try to add as much sincerity as you can to your expression and voice. “Of course.”

“My, my,” he says, smirking, “how conflicted you must be.”

He pauses, examining you, then leans forward and brushes a stray hair off your forehead. “You actually are conflicted though, aren’t you?”

His hand settles against your forehead. “So I suppose I may have to be a tinsy bit more inclined to believe you when you say things like that.”

“Just a tinsy bit?” you ask.

He puts his index finger and thumb together so there is a small space between, a tentative smile on his face. “This much.”

The boulder goes up the hill just a little more.  

____________________________________________________________________________

During the third, John ends up asking about Alfred. You tell him an abridged version of what happened while the two of you play Blackjack. You struggle through it, but John is patient.

“So he abandoned you,” John says, irate.

You shake your head. “It’s way more complicated than that.”

“I don’t think so! He was supposed to be there for you and he abandoned you.”

John seems oddly protective right now and you find it ironic given all the ways he’s hurt you. Or maybe he’s projecting, you’re not sure. Regardless, you feel protective of Alfred.

“He wasn’t sure what we were doing was right anymore. He made the decision that was best for him, even if - even if I hated it.”

John shakes his hand like he’s trying to dismiss your statement away. “He should’ve tried to work it out, not just left.”

“You seem to be forgetting the part where this was all triggered from him thinking we wronged _you."_

He considers this for a little while then says, “My point still stands.”

“But Bruce,” he says, smiling softly, “Thanks for telling me about it, for being so open.”

And a little more.

____________________________________________________________________________

What was supposed to be the fourth Ice Cream Friday doesn’t happen because John shows up at your door with a large cut on his face and bruises around his neck. You instantly drag him into the Manor and sit him down onto one the couches.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Harley found out we’ve been meeting,” he says miserably.

You knew this was inevitable, but you weren’t expecting her to knock him around. “Let me go get the first aid kit.”

“Wait! Do you have any ice cream here?”

You grimace. “I don’t think so.”

The look on his face is so downtrodden you want to volunteer to drive to the grocery store and get him some.

“Any alcohol?” he asks.

“No.”

He sighs wistfully. “Right, straight edge Bruce never seeks the comfort of a bottle. Of course!”

You get one of the first aid kits you keep from the kitchen and come back to find him with his face buried into the cushion, muffled laughter radiating out.

“Come on, that cut on your face is going to need at least some butterfly bandages.”

He slowly unsticks himself from the cushion, nodding to give you permission. You sit down to get to work, picking up the disinfectant. Obviously, you don’t enjoy seeing him like this, but the meaningfulness of him coming to you after this happened - the budding trust it demonstrates -  isn’t lost on you. It makes your heart swell so much you think it’s going to burst. Now it’s just a matter of how much you’re going to get out of him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” you ask.

He shrugs lifelessly, letting out something between a laugh and a cry. “What’s the point? It’s the same ol’ thing, over and over; she gets mad, makes my skin all carnival colorful, but I can’t resist her gravitational pull. The one that makes me so weak at the knees that I have no choice but to crawl back to her.”

He laughs. “I suppose the only difference is this detour.”

“You don’t have to go back to her,” you say, resolute.

He looks at you sadly. “Oh, but I do.”

He scrunches up his face. “Or at least it feels like I have to. I don’t know. How can you tell what’s just a feeling and what’s real?”

You finish disinfecting the wound and pick up the bandages. “It can be difficult to differentiate that sometimes. I guarantee this isn’t real, though. You don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

He laughs again, but instead of being defeated it’s cruel. “Rich, coming from you.”

You automatically retract your hand from his face, but he grabs it at the last moment.

“Wait! I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have said that.”

He drops your hand. You’re so shocked to hear that your mouth gapes open.

“You know,” he gives a small giggle, “this is how I wanted that one night to go. When you came up to Harley’s office, looking for her.”

He gives you a watery smile. “You’ve been so good to me lately, Bruce. So good. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together more than I did the first time around, which I didn’t even think was possible! It makes me realize I’m going to have to make a decision real soon.”

“About what?” you ask.

His eyes lock onto yours. “The future. Us.”

He keeps quiet for the rest of night. You let him stay in one of the guest rooms.

You don’t know if the boulder just inched up some more or crushed you.

____________________________________________________________________________

When the bat signal went up on the next Friday night, you weren’t expecting it to be because of John. You quickly texted him that you weren’t going to be able to meet tonight, suited up, and then took off. Upon arriving, Gordon informed you that the Joker had broken into a twenty-four hour bank and that he seemed to be working with just his goons.

“A bank.”

Gordon throws up his hands in the universal gesture of “I don’t know.”

“That clown has been having some serious mood swings lately, we still don’t know what happened with the bombs,” he says.

“I’ll take care of it,” you tell him.

In truth, you two are due for a Batman-Joker confrontation. You’re surprised, however, that he’s choosing tonight of all nights. It can’t be a coincidence. Furthermore, he’s involving people when he promised to be non-fatal. The last time you saw him was after what happened with Harley and all you can think about is that faraway look in his eyes as he told you he was going to have to make a decision soon, and what he said about not being able to resist her. A sense of dread settles over you; this isn’t good.

You get the address from Gordon and quickly arrive on the scene. Upon initial examination, you see John and some of his goons hounding the employees inside the bank. You brace yourself and open the door, the chime announcing your presence.

John whips his head up to look at you, eyes manic and rainbow-skinned gun in hand. His shoulders are tensely drawn and his grip on his gun crushing. You haven’t seen him like this for a long enough time that it’s disorientating. You can immediately tell that your suspicions are right; this is different, something happened.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!” he shouts like an announcer in a theater, rapidly approaching you, punching your shoulder with just enough strength for it not to be friendly.

“Let these people go, Joker.”

He grasps both of your shoulders. “Tonight’s the night that you persuade me to do that very thing.”

He gives you an intensely meaningful look. “Persuade me not to kill them.”

You think you know what he’s doing but you have no idea why he’s doing it now or under these circumstances. All you know is that this is happening now, that for some reason he’s thinking about going back on your friendship, that he’s asking you to prove yourself again and that you’re going to have to find a way to meet his expectations. You’re also going to have to figure out what to say that’s viable as Batman in front of all these people. Something succinct, something that proves how much you know him, something that will remind him of the time you’ve shared together and what a mistake it would be to give it up.

“This is your funhouse decision. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

He recoils from you. “That’s not a fair comparison.”

“Think about it,” you plead.

He paces around, looking at the ground, gun thrumming against his thigh. “You know, Harley and I had a conversation today. It was interesting! Illuminating, actually. About how you can’t really trust anyone. That all trust is just -” he skips, “- a leap of faith, right into the abyss!

I would have objected to that before, but after some _things_ have happened I can see why that makes sense. What do you think, Bats?”

“Don’t let her get to you. Trust can start as a leap of faith, but it’s built on transparency, reliability, and good will. It’s possible to trust people and have it be good.”

“But it’s never a hundred percent!” he shrieks. “You can never believe someone a hundred percent. There’s always a possibility they’ll hurt you!”

He holds his head in his hands. “Oh god, Harley’s right.” 

You want to reach out to him but you know that wouldn’t end well. Instead, you give a firm nod. “She’s right, there always is that possibility.”

John looks horrified at this, backing away from you. “You’re agreeing with her?”

“So, in that sense, there always is going to be an element of faith involved,” you start, “but people can prove themselves to be worth that faith. Do you know anyone that’s proved that to you?”

He stops backing up. “Maybe.”

“Then take that leap of faith so you don’t lose them. Please.”

You don’t know how to explain how the employees are going to retell this story, but as of right now, this is what matters. So much time passes in silence that you feel like it’s been a whole lifetime; watching John’s face is like watching a kaleidoscope; it shifts from rage to anguish to sadness to finally, _finally_ a longing.

“I can’t be stuck between these two worlds anymore. It’s exhausting,” he finally says.

He looks at you and it holds an overwhelming amount of emotions. “I love fighting with you, Bats...but I want to be with you more.”

You feel like your heart is about to explode out of your chest.

“Then put down the gun and let these people go,” you say, inching closer to him.

“What about Arkham?”

“We’ll work something out, I promise.”

He seems to consider for more time until you’ve arrived right in front of him. You wait for him to willingly give you his gun. He does.

“Let them go past,” he tells his goons.

“But, boss -”

“Just do it!”

The police come rushing in once the employees get out, and John is tackled onto the ground. You tell the police that you want to go with him to Arkham to make sure he stays secure, but you really want to make sure he’s okay. They let you sit in the back of the squad car with him. John doesn’t break eye contact with you the entire time.

While the police are still outside the car, you begin to think. A leap of faith. You’re feeling so much right now that you can’t help the laughter that comes bubbling out of you.

John looks at you, perplexed and emotionally frazzled. “What’s so funny?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last one, folks! This was a pretty significant chapter, so let me know what you think, even if it's, "Wow, how terrible."


	8. Chapter 8

This is the manifestation of John’s love: the decision to give up the black magic of gasoline and homemade bombs for a different sort of thrill, the closing of the theater of theater for the touching of lips, and the faith-knowledge that the stars are out there despite the cloud-smog that hides them. 

This is the manifestation of Bruce’s. 

____________________________________________________________________________

John made his decision and he chose to be your friend. He chose to trust you. You have no illusions about how difficult it must’ve been for him to do this and how difficult it will continue to be in the future. With that in mind, you’re going to make sure you never do something that leads him to believe it was a mistake to do so; this will start with finding some way to make good on your promise about Arkham. 

Before researching, you knew there had to be alternative hospitals to Arkham for people like John. The most promising candidate you found is called Pinebrooks Lodge, located about a two hour drive from Gotham City. It’s a long-term psychiatric care facility that specializes in people that have problems with anger and violence. After a thorough investigation as both Bruce Wayne and Batman, you’ve determined it to be a competent and compassionate organization that could both be beneficial for John and that could handle someone like him. The problem is that it’s outside of Gotham County jurisdiction and therefore you’re not sure if it’s even possible to get him transferred there. Meaning, in all probability, you would need to falsify some documentation and either help him break out of Arkham or encourage him to do it himself. This doesn’t sit well with you, but when you think about how horribly Arkham treats its patients, it feels unjust to leave him there. This is particularly because you’re not sure if there’s even a reason for it anymore, considering he told you he didn’t want to fight with you anymore and therefore there shouldn’t be any more crimes. Though, you must consider the chance for recidivism. Regardless of his commitment, you’re going to need to keep an eye on him. So, if he says no to Pinebrooks, maybe you could get him to agree to some sort of living situation with you and some supplemental mental health service. There’s also the possibility of investing in Arkham reform - which is something you want to do anyway - but you know John isn’t going to wait as long as it’s going to take for that to have a significant effect. 

This all assumes that John would even be okay with going to a facility like this. You know he can just break out and he knows you know that he can just break out. You’re going to need to approach this with extreme care so he doesn’t think you’re just trying to get rid of him or that this was part of your elaborate plan all along to banish the Joker from Gotham. It’s a tight line to walk so early in this part of your relationship. 

You hope you can walk it and that John believes enough in you to allow you to do so. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Seeing John in Arkham is easier this time around; you only had to get into contact with the guard you paid off last time and you’re in. You have a jarring sense of deja vu as the guard knocks on the door, announces your presence, and then the wait in silence for John to open the meal slot. The difference between then and now is when the meal slot jerks open John looks utterly relieved to see you. 

“Bruce! Hi!”

“Hey, buddy,” you say warmly. 

John takes his eyes away from you and glares at the guard like he’s intruding. The guard looks spooked and tells you that he’ll be watching on the cameras like he did before. You sit down in front of the steel door, crossing your legs. John does the same. 

“Gotta be real with you,” John starts, tone light, grin wide, “if you didn’t show up in the next couple days I would’ve gotten out of here and broken your kneecaps.”    


You know he’s being deathly serious. “I’d expect nothing less.” 

He laughs. “But luckily you came, so I don’t have to worry about breaking your kneecaps nor do you have to worry about broken kneecaps.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Thanks for coming through. Again.” 

You let this wash over you for a few moments. Then, you adjust your posture so it’s as open as possible and, though it makes your heart pound slightly, scoot closer to the door. 

“Do you mind clarifying for me what happened that night?” 

John looks like that’s one of the last things he wants to do, but he finally sighs and leans his head against the door. “I told Harley that I didn’t want to be the Joker anymore and she said some stuff that got to me.” 

“You told her you didn’t want to be the Joker anymore?” 

You’re not completely surprised given the circumstances, but it is still substantial to hear. It confirms that you’re allowed to imply what you’re about to imply. 

He nods. “Yup! When I told her it’s because I was done with hurting you and wanted to trust you, she told me about how I could never trust you - or anyone, really - and that you were just playing around with me like before.” 

“And you believed her?” 

He shrugs, making vague gestures with his hands. “It’s not that I necessarily believed her, she just knows my buttons. And boy, can my buttons be explosive!” 

You wish they weren’t, but you nod understandingly. “How do you feel now?” 

He gives you a meaningful look. “Like I want my newly minted trusted friend to prove to me I didn’t just make myself a joke again by putting myself out there for him.” 

You swallow nervously. Part of you doesn’t even want to bring up the Pinebrooks because you know it’s going to be a volatile subject, wants to dismiss it for now because it’s too early in the relationship, and you don’t know if John is even ready for this, but another part of you knows it needs to be brought up now. 

You decide to go with directness. “I found another hospital that you might like.” 

He looks gobsmacked. “Excuse me?” 

You instantly go to begging. “Just hear me out, please. It’s a great institution that actually cares about its patients. You can get the care you need.” 

“The care I...need."  


His laugh starts low, and then gets louder and louder until you feel it echoing in your skull. “This is your alternative? God, am I an idiot? Did you really get me to trust you again, only to play me?”

“I’m not playing you! Listen, it’s something to consider. I’m not going to force you if you’re not ready.” 

This changes his demeanor. “What do you mean?” 

You inhale deeply, then exhale. “I mean what I said. If you’re not ready, then you don’t have to go. It’s your choice.”

John looks confused for a moment, then gives you a conspiratory smirk. “There’s an underlying implication to that.” 

“I’m aware,” you say.

He gazes at you for awhile, smirk morphing into a smile. “Well, would you look at that.”

You look away from him, then look back to try to drive the point home. “Just consider it, please.” 

“Batting those baby blues isn’t as irresistible as it used to be!” he says, wagging his finger. 

He traces the edge of the meal slot. “What help do you think I need, exactly?” 

You wish you could show him a slideshow of the last couple of months and what happened in the bank, but you can’t and don’t think that it’d even be productive if you could. 

“Help that could prevent you from having such explosive buttons, that could prevent you from doing something you may one day grow to regret,” you say. 

“What do you think I could regret?” 

“If you had killed those people last night because you got too angry, would you have regretted what it had done to our relationship?” 

This gets him to pause and you consider that an accomplishment. 

“I’ll  _ consider  _ considering it. That’s the best you’re going to get out of me,” he says. 

He starts shooing you. “Now get out of here, I got some stuff to plan.” 

He smiles. “I’ll see you soon though, right?” 

You nod, returning his smile. You get up from off the ground, stretch, and then turn around to leave. 

“Oh, and Bruce?” 

You turn back around. 

“I know why you were laughing last time. I was too distracted at the time, but I get the joke now. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah, we are.” 

____________________________________________________________________________

You’re not surprised to hear about John’s breakout a couple of days after your visit. You’re also not surprised to find him the next Friday on your two’s rooftop, sucking down a milkshake. When he sees you, he smiles brightly and waves. 

“You came!” 

When you go over to sit next to him he pats your shoulder. 

“I’ve trained you well.” 

You shake your head, resigned. “Shocked to see you out of Arkham.” 

“You basically gave me permission to!” he exclaims. 

“It wasn’t the ideal,” you say. 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Oh, so I was just supposed to agree automatically to going to that facility? Please.” 

“I suppose not,” you say, “but I do have a proposition for you.”

He smiles like a shark. “Ooh, ooh! Back to the basics. Hit me, Wayne.” 

“If you don’t want to go to Pinebrooks right now -” John groans, “- would you consider staying with me and seeing a psychiatrist?” 

John looks flustered. “S-staying with you?” 

He seems to realize something because his expression changes to annoyance. “You want to keep an eye on me, don’t you? You don’t think I can keep away from Joker.” 

“I believe that you’ll stay on the path, I just want to help you stay on that path.” 

“Because you don’t trust me to do it on my own?” he asks, voice raising. 

“It’s not a matter of trust, John. What you’re about to undergo can be incredibly difficult; anyone would struggle.”

He deflates. “In exchange for?” 

“What?” 

“You said it was a deal,” John starts, “what do I get?”

“Whatever you want.” 

He thinks for awhile, humming, swinging his legs. He suddenly grins widely at you and you know you’re in trouble. 

“Tell me what was bothering you on the roof that one time and I’ll live with you.” 

Your heart drops down to your stomach. This isn’t happening. 

“That isn’t an equal exchange for you, it was really nothing.” 

He leans towards you, predatory. “Your reluctance to tell me makes me want to know more.” 

Fight-or-flight is starting to kick in and you’re getting nauseous. You don’t feel like you can tell him this; you don’t want to ruin the relationship after making such great strides. You could make something up, but you don’t want to lie to him either. 

“I-I,” you fumble, “it’s really not that interesting.”

“No?”

“No.” 

“Then it should be no biggie to tell me.” 

But then you think about the particular feelings your harbor towards this man. How you feel so connected to him, how you two are the same kind of strange, how much he’s challenged you to improve yourself, to be open with yourself and with your vulnerabilities and how alive he makes you feel as a result, and you just know you have to honor all of this and  _ say it _ . 

“I’m in love with you. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I am.” 

The time on that one particular rooftop in Gotham freezes. For a long while John just stares at you. You can hear a bird flying past, the honking of a car from the streets below. Then, a look of utter contempt passes onto John’s face and you register at the last second that you’re about to get tackled off the ledge and onto the roof itself. He settles on top of you and lands a nice punch right on your cheekbone. 

“Real nice joke, Bruce,” he seethes, grabbing the front of your shirt. “I thought I was the comedian in this relationship.” 

He goes in for another punch but you grab his hands to stop him from going further. “You said you were choosing to trust me!” 

“I am!” 

“Then believe me when I tell you that I love you. 

He breathes heavily, but seems to consider what you’ve said. Finally, his face transforms into a look of incredulous hope.

“You’re in love with me? Like actually in love with me?” 

You’re bewildered to see that he’s started crying while laughing. You instantly shift to hug him and he clutches onto you for dear life. You’re starting to reconsider what you thought previously about him not returning your feelings.

He continues to laughs wildly. “This is so funny, Bruce. You realize how hilarious this is, right? Like, you have to.”

He pulls back to hold your face in both of his hands. “This is the funniest thing that has ever happened in the history of ever.” 

“I really don’t know what to make of this reaction, John,” you tell him, because you really, really don’t. 

He caresses your cheekbone. “It means I love you too, silly.” 

He leans in and starts kissing you, long and oscillating between soft and rough. You can’t believe this is happening. 

“Wait,” he pulls back, “what did you mean about it not making sense?” 

You pause. “There’s a lot of baggage between us. A lot of resentment.” 

John huffs like you’re an idiot. “Doesn’t mean there can’t also be a lot of love. You and me? We make more sense than most things.”

You’re not sure if you agree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we had a happy ending. :) Please let me know what you loved, hated, or felt somewhere in between. I'm seriously considering writing a sequel for this that explores more of the issues introduced in this story but existed outside of the scope of it (as this story was all about them, you know, trusting each other and getting together and that jazz) and knowing what I did well and not so well would be super helpful for future reference! 
> 
> thanks for reading!


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